His Suitable Bride

by Cathy Williams/Abby Green/Kate Walker

  The disturbing arrow of lust he felt firmed his resolve. If he had but known it, he would have realised that the hot passion lying in wait beneath her cool exterior was a sign of things to come. She might have been a virgin on their wedding night, but he’d awoken her, and as soon as she’d been free of her baby she’d run. He’d never planned on their marriage being consummated, but when it had it had felt so right. And then when she’d become pregnant—He cut off his runaway thoughts and let hard ruthlessness rise. This woman in front of him represented his one fatal weakness.

  ‘Our marriage was never meant to be anything but a business arrangement. You knew that. I knew that.’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t. I did know that …’ Rowan gulped miserably, unable to continue for a moment, furious with herself for allowing him to goad her. The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention to her vulnerability to him. Or to the memory of how wanton she’d been during their short-lived marriage. Or to hear him say it had been a mistake. ‘I never expected anything more.’

  She felt hot in the afternoon sun as it beat down on her head. Hot and tired. She didn’t have the energy for this. She didn’t have to remind herself how clinical their conversations had been before the wedding. Didn’t have to remind herself of how their marriage had never been meant to turn physical. And yet it had. She’d thrown herself at him. Shame clawed her insides.

  In a series of meetings and dinners before they’d married Isandro had made everything crystal-clear. His words were still etched into her brain.

  ‘I am marrying you so that I can save your father from bankruptcy, and by doing so I will take his position as CEO of Carmichael’s Bank. You are marrying me in order to fulfil the terms of your mother’s will and receive your maternal inheritance. As this won’t be a real marriage, if I take a lover I will do so with the utmost discretion, and I would ask the same of you. In a year we can review things, talk about a divorce. A year with you by my side should be enough to establish my place. By then we will have both got what we wanted and my control of the bank will be assured.’

  At the time Rowan had blinked at him slowly, finding it hard to move her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. Eyes which had been cool—cool enough to dampen her silly, girlish ardour. She’d been sitting there daydreaming, imagining him saying … what? That he’d fallen in love with her the minute he’d seen her and known she was the one for him? That he was as overwhelmed with lust for her as she was for him?

  She returned to the present and swayed betrayingly as the heat seemed suddenly to intensify. Little had she known just how inconsequential she had been to him—that at no point had he ever entertained the possibility of feelings, no matter what she might have fooled herself into believing …

  With an almost rough movement, Isandro took Rowan’s arm and ushered her back up the crumbling steps and into her room. ‘You need to get out of the sun. You’re not used to the heat.’

  She stood away from him, feeling better now that she was back inside, and looked at him warily.

  He put distance between them, rocking back on his heels, tall and dominant. He laughed harshly. ‘Silly me—how would I know what you’re used to? After all, you could have been anywhere for the last two years.’

  Rowan blanched. She knew she would have to tell him sooner or later exactly where she had been. But right now, feeling so rawly vulnerable, coming to terms with everything, was not the time. If she could just stay out of his way for the moment, focus on Zac … When she was feeling more in control of herself and her see-sawing emotions she would tell him then. Because when she did, it was going to invite all sorts of questions. Questions she certainly wasn’t equipped emotionally to answer yet.

  He backed away from her to a door she hadn’t noticed in the wall as it was painted the same colour, almost camouflaged. It must be the adjoining door to his room. Her heart stopped and started again painfully. He saw her wide-eyed look. A smile mocked her.

  ‘No one here expects us to pretend we’re a happily married couple, enjoying the conjugal bed, so rest assured, Rowan. I won’t be knocking on your door at night.’

  No, she thought with an alarmingly sharp pain in the region of her heart. No doubt Isandro would have had a string of lovers to keep him company and must have a current one. She didn’t have to remind herself of the disparaging remarks he had made about her to his sister. That conversation was a lane too far to travel down in her memory right now.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, shutting away his disturbing presence. She sat on the bed, feeling exhausted, her mind a whirling minefield of memories. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to slow down her thumping heart. To no avail. He had come to her room on their wedding night when she had least expected it. Had looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She could still remember the aching longing she’d felt as his blue eyes had looked her up and down. She’d willed him to find her attractive, and she’d watched with bated breath as he’d come closer and closer. She’d known he’d come just to say goodnight, to be polite. But it had been as if her yearning body and heart had spoken out loud. And when, unbelievably, as if hearing her unspoken plea, he’d taken her in his arms … kissed her … he’d aroused a passion within her that still shocked and scared her to this day.

  Rowan shook her head, as if she could somehow dislodge the painful images. She’d been so wanton, so full of ardour. With a groan Rowan stood jerkily and started to unpack, busying herself with the mundane task. It worked. Her feverish mind cooled. She gave in to the lure of a long hot shower, and afterwards belted a clean robe about herself and sank into the soft depths of the bed, letting the wave of blackness engulf her. She was with her son again. That was all that mattered. It had to be, because she couldn’t hope for anything more.

  She was back in that room. The white room. Two sets of double doors. She knew she had to get out, that if she didn’t get out she’d never leave, never see her baby again. Panic gripped her, making her movements clumsy. She couldn’t seem to get off the bed. She could hear footsteps approach, and knew they were coming to lock her in. Two sets of doors. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Her voice was gone. The covers on the bed were hampering her, trapping her. With the scream strangled in her throat Rowan felt salty hot tears fall down her face, and then she was being shaken. Terror froze her limbs …

  Rowan became conscious of two things at once. It was the dream. The same dream, although a slightly different version. It was just the dream. And she was being shaken. Her eyes flew open and clashed immediately with glacial blue ones. Isandro looked down at her, impatience stamped all over his face. She was in Spain, not in that awful room.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you? You were almost screaming the house down. Zac is asleep just across the hall.’

  Zac.

  The terror of the dream was still so real that she shuddered. She felt completely disorientated. It was dark—the curtains leading outside fluttered gently in the warm breeze. Isandro’s big hands were still on her shoulders, his body half sitting on the bed, uncomfortably close enough for her to smell his scent, feel his heat. She jerked back.

  ‘What time is it?’

  He let her go when she moved, and glanced at the platinum watch encircling one wrist.

  ‘Half past eleven.’

  Rowan shook her head. ‘At night?’

  He nodded and stood up. ‘Julia, the housekeeper, looked in on you at dinnertime, but you were sound asleep so I told her to leave you alone.’ He studied her, and then asked harshly, ‘What is it? Are you jetlagged?’

  Rowan shook her head. ‘No. Just … tired. It was just a bad dream. I … I had no idea I was crying out.’ She put a hand to her temple. It was throbbing slightly. She became aware she was dressed in nothing but the robe and it was gaping open. She pulled it closed and awkwardly got up off the bed. ‘I must have been more tired than I realised, that’s all.’

  Isandro put on the small bedside light and it thr
ew long shadows across the room and his autocratic face. Rowan could see that he was still in his clothes.

  ‘I was on my way to bed when I heard you.’

  ‘Oh …’ She felt as if he’d read her mind, and a blush came up to stain her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘If it’s likely to happen again I’ll have to move you to the other side of the house, away from Zac. If he gets woken at night he’s impossible to put back down.’

  ‘It won’t.’ Rowan sent up a silent prayer. The dreams were a regular occurrence. Mainly they were tinged with sadness, and she woke crying, but this one had been more intense. It must be just because of the recent events. ‘Really,’ she assured Isandro, wanting his disturbing presence to be gone. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Isandro looked at her. Her skin was pink, her hair sexily tousled. Had this been some sort of ruse? To lead him in here, to try and seduce him? Was she aware of her effect on him? Had she become practised in the art of seduction these last two years? That thought made something knot deep in his gut. He couldn’t put out of his mind the way she had felt under his hands just now, the frailty of her bones. Her clean, slightly musky scent. And yet the terror in her voice had been real enough, and the sound of her screams.

  ‘See that it doesn’t.’ His voice sounded constricted to his own ears, and he was aware of the irrationality of his statement. If she had been in the grip of a genuine nightmare, of course she wouldn’t be able to control her responses. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Damn the woman for coming back.

  Isandro went across the hall and pushed open Zac’s door, looking in to see his son sleeping peacefully, half on the bed, half off. He went over and placed him back safely in the middle, his heart swelling with love for this little boy. He hated the fact that he had to dance to Rowan’s tune—hated the fact that as Zac’s mother she could be allowed access to a child she had so callously walked away from. His hands clenched into fists. He had no choice but to allow her this access, but God help her if she thought he was going to allow her to take him away.

  The following morning Rowan felt groggy, her head heavy. She had woken to a knock on the door, and now looked as a young maid came into the room. She pulled back the drapes farther, letting sunlight stream into the room, and opened the French doors wider. A bird called outside. Warmth came in on the light breeze and Rowan felt herself respond to it instinctively, letting it into her bones. It felt good.

  ‘Buenos Días.’

  ‘Buenos Días.’ Rowan echoed, sitting up in the bed. She smiled at the girl hesitantly, and was rewarded with a shy smile. She was informed that breakfast would be served downstairs in fifteen minutes.

  After a quick shower, and dressing in a plain skirt and T-shirt—one of about three outfits she owned—Rowan went downstairs. She felt self-conscious, well aware that she must look shabby. She just hadn’t had to worry about clothes in so long, and she certainly hadn’t expected to be here. Her mind flew from those concerns as she approached what must be the dining room door. She could hear the shouts of Zac.

  With her heart thumping painfully she took a deep breath and went in. Two sets of eyes turned towards her. One she did her best to block out and one a mirror image of her own. She focused on Zac as she came in, unable to help a smile from spreading across her face. He was a mess, with food everywhere—all over him and his face. He grinned up at her from his high chair as she approached the table.

  For one very normal and wry moment she didn’t doubt for a second that his winning grin could change in an instant to tears and tantrums. But even that thought made her heart twist, and the longing to just sit and study every single aspect of him was overwhelming with its force.

  Reluctantly she looked away and greeted María, who sat on the other side of the table, also eating breakfast. The woman sent her a hesitant smile, and Rowan reciprocated, feeling grateful. She sat down, and the housekeeper bustled in with a plate heaped high with food. She indicated to where there was fruit, croissants, and poured Rowan some steaming and fragrant coffee.

  ‘I trust you slept well?’

  Rowan glanced briefly at Isandro, whose tone was as arctic as his eyes. ‘Yes, thank you. The room is more than comfortable.’

  María broke the uncomfortable ensuing silence. ‘It is a stunning house. I’ve often thought it must have been a magical place to grow up. Zac is very fortunate.’

  Isandro slid a mocking glance at Rowan, and then a more benign one to María. ‘Yes, isn’t he?’

  Rowan felt the weight of a myriad insults in that comment, but either María was oblivious to the tension or else she was a very good actress, and she chattered on about the house, asking questions. In truth Rowan was relieved that the other woman was there, to divert Isandro’s attention from her.

  Isandro was deftly feeding Zac, making all sorts of emotions run through Rowan. In answer to something María said which Rowan hadn’t heard, he said, ‘This isn’t my original family home. My sister lives there, on the other side of Osuna, with her family and my mother.’

  Rowan’s insides clenched in instinctive self-protection at the mention of his mother and sister. At least they didn’t live here. Relief flooded her. She needed to be thankful for small mercies. As it was she was sure she’d have to face them sooner or later, and she didn’t believe that time and circumstance would have made either of them any more amenable to her.

  Just then María stood up, excusing herself. Isandro stood too, and took Zac out of his high chair, handing him over. ‘I think he’s had all he’s going to eat for now.’

  ‘I’ll take him up to get dressed.’ The older woman deftly lifted him and took him out.

  When Isandro sat down again Rowan’s breath caught in her throat. She’d only just noticed that he was dressed down, in jeans and a T-shirt, the material doing little to disguise the breadth and power of his chest. He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

  ‘No more dreams last night?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  She looked away and down, and Isandro noticed the faint purple shadows under her eyes. Something kicked him in the chest as he recalled his impatience the previous night, and he did not welcome it.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he drawled conversationally, ‘that it’s just your guilty conscience.’

  Rowan’s head jerked up. His words had cut right through her with the precision of a knife.

  For a second Isandro couldn’t believe what he was seeing—abject pain in the depths of those deep violet eyes. He couldn’t believe it because it wasn’t there, he told himself. Wasn’t he already witnessing her shy, hesitant smiles with Zac? The way she was charming María.?

  ‘Isandro.’ Rowan’s voice felt unused and too husky. ‘All I ask is for a chance. That’s all. I’m here on your terms. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I just want a chance. That’s all.’

  He sat back in his chair and saw her ramrod-straight back, her tightly held body. It was too thin. The shortness of her hair highlighted her long neck, and the bones in her wrist seemed so fragile—as if he might break them just by taking hold.

  ‘You’re getting the best chance you’ll ever get or deserve. You’re here, aren’t you?’ he gritted out. He hated being so aware of her.

  She nodded and looked down, her hair falling forward across one cheek to shield her eyes from him. He had to stop himself from putting out a hand to pull it back, tuck it behind her ear.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He had to get out of there, away from her sham act of vulnerability. Abruptly Isandro stood from the table, dropping his napkin. He looked at Rowan sternly. ‘You’re here, as I said, primarily because I have no choice—and also because I know you won’t last a week.’ His eyes flicked disparagingly over her worn clothes. ‘All this effort and play-acting … you really don’t need to bother, you know.’

  He turned, about to walk out of the door, and Rowan gathered her strength from somewhere, storing her hurt at his wo
rds deep down. She stood up, the sound of the chair harsh on the floor.

  ‘Wait.’

  He stopped and turned, impatience and intransigence stamped on every line of his body.

  ‘When … when can I spend time with Zac, please?’

  She held her breath. If he was going to refuse her—

  ‘You can see him for a couple of hours before he goes down for his afternoon nap.’

  He walked back in then, and came to stand close. Rowan gripped the table with one hand, slightly off balance after the way she had stood up.

  ‘I’m off work for one week, Rowan. I’ll be around, watching your every move, so don’t get any ideas.’

  Rowan watched as he walked away again, and out of the room. Off work for one week? Since when had he taken more than a day off work? She sat down again, trembling all over. Had having Zac been what it took to make him change? Because undoubtedly he had. It was that softness she’d noticed. Not directed at her, by a long shot, but a softness nevertheless, and certainly a different attitude to work if this behaviour was anything to go by.

  But she had seen it before, and it was this side of him, so rarely on display, which had given her the confidence to leave Zac—because she’d known above all else that he wanted and would love his son. The first time she’d really seen that side of him had been with his sister’s children, who must be aged three and five now. He’d had an innate patience and an ability to communicate with them that had surprised Rowan when she’d seen them together at the wedding. It had bowled her over. And after she’d conceived, on their wedding night, she’d known instinctively that he’d be a good father.

  Despite the fact that he’d been so ambitious that he had coldly married her in order to take control of one of the biggest banks in England, he’d welcomed the news of impending fatherhood. Clearly, though it had never been expected from her, he’d been happy to be having an heir.